


Shoot for the Sky

by Mangacat, silkylustre



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Clouds, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, Fairies, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, Poetic Porn, misuse of scientific facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkylustre/pseuds/silkylustre
Summary: Arthur and Eames are rain fairies. (Yes, bear with me)





	Shoot for the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I can mostly not believe I’ve written this because it’s domestic fluff, but also unadulterated crack and poetry porn and I researched actual scientific cloud names for it and I DO BLAME SILKYLUSTRE ENTIRELY. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? What have I done. This is my second Inception fic ever and the first one was so hard I thought I’d never get to write another but this just came out without asking (well, I could post the chat that solicited it, but…) I am so absolving myself of any responsibility.
> 
> ... podficcer's response in the podfic. ;P

Listen to the podfic, [right here!](http://silkylustre.parakaproductions.com/Inception/shoot%20for%20the%20sky%203.mp3) (to save, right-click)!

 

 

 

Eames had been aiming to land lightly on the developing nimbostratus, but when his naked feet touched down on the dense moisture with an unexpected thud, it turned into more of a graceless stumble.

That cloud was definitely light more than a couple of decilitres.

His toes automatically burrowed into the silky smooth surface to feel out the terrain and knead some moisture into it out of the air around them. The cloud preened and purred under the ministration, little sparks of electricity dancing along the span of his feet and the barest rumble of thunder rolling in its growing belly.

Eames smiled fondly down at it – he had been grooming this system for days, treading the clouds with big steps and leaps in the just right places. Watching the moisture gather into the more easily shaped cumulus that could be seen as the wandering white hills from below was his favourite thing.

Well, second favourite to be honest.

His favourite thing was watching Arthur flit around the clouds under his care, hopping from one cumulus to the next, massaging them with his quick feet until they bumped into each other, merging to grow big with rain drops in their bellies that grew and grew until they were too heavy to be held by the invisible nets woven into the cloud cover by their shepherds.

Following their descent to earth with his sharp gaze always felt both exhilarating and bittersweet.  
Eames prided himself somewhat of an artist, coaxing his clouds into many peculiar shapes – turtles, doves, unicorns (and really, who wasn’t utterly tickled looking up to see a cock-and-ball-shaped altocumulus float by unexpectedly?).

But Arthur… Arthur could build palaces.

Towering columns of cumulonimbus rolling steely grey over the expanse of the sky like a flock of giant beasts, growling at anything in their path. Oh, Arthur just knew where to tread to elicit the most ear-shattering booms of thunder.  
Eames loved watching him work in a tempest, slim form always half illuminated by lightning strikes that threw his angular face into stark relief…

When Eames came out of his reverie, he found that he’d continued kneading the nimbostratus with his feet and overdone it just a tad.

Extracting himself with little difficulty from the wafts of moisture covering him up to his neck, he resettled his feet on top and looked down with a sigh. His thin tunic had moulded itself wetly to his torso, pebbled nipples shining through, and the short pants clung to his muscled thighs like a second skin.  
Absently he snagged a whisp of cirrus out of the air where it had just floated by his head. It chittered at him indignantly while he slowly brushed it past his soaked clothes.

Didn’t appreciate being manhandled, the little fella.

But when it was done drinking up all the excess moisture from Eames’ clothes, growing plumps and grey, it actually plopped down into the roiling storm with a satisfied sigh. Eames smiled at it as it merged with the bigger clouds, thinking of how it’d get to be the life of the party that was about to start.

Speaking of… he lifted his head and glanced around for a tell-tale flash of jet-black hair, knowing Arthur was never one to miss some major precipitation, especially when he’d put so much effort into it. When he found neither hide nor hair of his companion though, Eames realized he hadn’t seen Arthur yet at all today after rolling out of bed. Which he rarely even managed to do while Arthur wasn’t already up and working.

Something didn’t sit right.

With one last pat to the rolling storm system preparing to unleash some serious mayhem on the earth below, he caught a long cirrus strand and rode it up all the way to the high castles where the Seelie court was in splendid residence this summer and his and Arthur’s chamber was tucked away in one of the manifold turrets.

He slipped inside through the opaque wall of mist that gave them privacy and found his quarry nestled in the middle of their bed, dense fog folded over him so only a mess of dark curls was visible.

“Arthur?”

His only answer was an unintelligible mumble from beneath the cover sounding suspiciously like “Go ‘way.” which naturally brought Eames closer immediately. He brushed his hand over the fog and it folded away obediently, flowing down the bed like river water, leaving Arthur bare and curled up miserably in the middle. A sharp breath filled Eames’ lungs when he saw his partners pale body emerge, shivers running along his lithe frame.

“Oh, Arthur.”

“I’m sick…”

“I can see that.”

“I spent too much time up high with the cirrostratus yesterday, I think I got a sun stroke.”

Eames reached out and brushed his thumb over Arthur’s chapped lips, taking in how his skin looked cracked and flaky – he felt hot to the touch. Arthur coughed and Eames felt sympathetically of how dry and sore his throat must have been to sound so wretched.

“You are suffering from dehydration, darling.”

Arthur turned his head away and curled in on himself even more with a grunt.

“Why in the world didn’t you say anything?”

He opened his eyes just a slit and a taste of his familiar condescension dripped from his voice.

“I didn’t even notice you getting out of bed this morning,” and _you_ should have noticed THAT a lot sooner; hung between them unsaid. Eames stifled a grin at the unspoken words. If Arthur could snark, all was maybe not well, but not quite as dire as it had looked at first. Still, he was feverish and mostly likely couldn’t concentrate enough to draw moisture from air to replenish his need, so Eames would have to help him along.

With a bit more effort than he usually exerted over their domain, the little stratus that served as their bed lowered in the middle until Arthur was nestled into a little dip and Eames felt the static rise in the air above them as he pushed a little more, turning their ceiling into a roiling dark shape, ready to burst in seconds. He climbed into the little makeshift tub with Arthur, untangling him gently to lean his head against his breast, shoulders tucked into the crook of his arm and dropped a kiss on his dry, hot forehead before winking up at the cloud. It obliged immediately with a small clap of thunder, followed by big, heavy drops that splashed around them, wetting Arthur’s thirsty skin, soaking into his hair, plastering the dark strands to his head, making him look closer to his usual severely coifed self.

Arthur had his eyes closed, but Eames could already feel his body soaking up the falling water. He used his free hand splayed over Arthur’s torso to rub the moisture into every pore, watched Arthur’s long lashes grow heavy with drops of rain, caught in the delicate hairs like little gems. He couldn’t resist tracing one of the small rivulets that made its way down the sharp jut of Arthur’s cheekbone with his tongue, until he reached the slightly parted lips. He let his tongue slip inside, tracing Arthur’s teeth lightly all the way up to his hard palate where he drank in Arthur’s sigh and tried to push as much wetness as he could inside his mouth.

Arthur tipped his head back, deepening the kiss, lips already going back to their familiar softness as his body soaked up the offered replenishment. He gasped into Eames’ mouth when his thumb brushed against a tightly furled nipple and Eames stilled his hand right there, absently moving his thumb back and forth over the hardened nub, enjoying the way Arthur’s upper body started pushing sinuously into the ministration.

They kept on kissing, tongues sliding against teeth and lips and against each other in a familiar dance, trading dominance back and forth until Eames felt like he could get away with letting his hand slide further down Arthur’s ribcage, slipping against his hip for a moment, where the rain from above had already filled the little pit up with water that cooled down Arthur’s heated skin. When he dragged his fingers back along the dip of Arthur’s pelvis, met the trail of coarse curls and followed it further down, he found Arthur half hard and filling up quickly.

It was when he closed his hand around the shaft though that Arthur turned his head out of their kiss with a stifled moan, blinking rapidly before he mumbled: “Eames, what are you doing, I’m still sick.”  
Eames just tightened his grip lightly, scraping his teeth against Arthur’s jawline.  
“Oh, shush, _parts_ of you are clearly up for it. And besides, orgasms are good for your health.”  
He quickly fell into a rhythm, stroking Arthur with a sure and gentle touch, his own hips stuttering light thrusts into Arthur’s side to take the edge of his own arousal. He hooked his chin into the crook of Arthur’s shoulder so he could feel his partner’s ribcage rise and fall more quickly with each pass, watch that beautiful cock appear again and again from inside the sheath of his fingers, water lapping and curling around Arthur’s tensing thighs. He brushed the fingers of his other hand against Arthur’s arm in little swirls, tracing the goosebumps and eliciting a fervent shudder to go with them as the gasps and pants grew louder in his ears.

Arthur was now actively moving into his strokes, head thrown back and eyes closed, continuously swallowing the gulps of water that gathered in his open mouth, fingers clinging to the half formed fog as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside him. Eames knew they were close, nosing Arthur’s jaw and mouthing lightly at the cooling skin of his neck, tongued pressed flat against Arthur’s racing pulse as if he could taste the life and pleasure from it.  
But even then he was surprised when Arthur’s back suddenly bowed and he heaved a deep groan from his belly, muscles locked and riding the peak for long, long moments, before he came crashing down, panting and boneless into Eames’ cradling arms.

Eames watched as Arthur sightlessly started at the ceiling for a minute, where the little cloud burst had tapered off into a white fluffy whisp and let the grin spread his lips unchecked right then. He proceeded to kiss the remaining raindrops from Arthur’s cheeks, savouring the salty hint of sweat that went along and satisfied that Arthur’s skin now felt cool and smooth to the touch.

“Feel better now, pet?”

Arthur turned towards him with half-lidded eyes, clearly trying to fix a stern expression on his face and failing utterly to contain the sated smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Surprisingly, yes, Mr. Eames, I do.”

Eames had kept his broad grin on full display, when a slight shift in the press of their body made Arthur’s eyes fly open immediately.

“But you haven’t… should I…”

Eames caught his hand and tugged it up and away, dropping a reverent kiss on the pulse point of Arthur’s wrist, whilst shaking his head lightly.

“No, I’m fine, darling. This was entirely for your benefit.”

Arthur returned his gaze half incredulous, half scandalized, but he didn’t say anything more when Eames quickly shucked his once again soaked clothes and then tucked him back to settle on the slowly reforming bed in a tangle of limbs, until…

“Oh, but the tropical depression that’s supposed to…”

“All taken care of, my love, it’s already opening monsoon season as we speak.”

“Are you sure we can…”

“Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“It’s fine, give it a rest.”

Arthur finally settled against Eames who had come to the conclusion that this was the perfect opportunity to sleep the day away and he was determined to keep Arthur exactly where he was to make him finally rest and recuperate a little bit.  
Finally, Arthur accepted his fate, burrowing into Eames, and settling to a deep and restful sleep.

     (()) ((=)) (())  
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((== The end ==))  
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